


Seven Summers Ago

by Kiraly



Category: Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us! - Sufjan Stevens (Song)
Genre: Anaphylaxis, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Neighbors, Pining, Slow Burn, Wasps, insect stings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: In small-town Illinois, a young man discovers a letter that brings him face to face with his past.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 15
Kudos: 13
Collections: Jukebox 2020





	Seven Summers Ago

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alchemise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemise/gifts).



> I originally matched on a totally different song but then this idea caught me and refused to let go. I hope you like it, alchemise! 
> 
> Many thanks to Elleth and Minutia_R for beta-reading and encouraging me, and especially to bikingpaladin for being my local guide to rural Illinois. :)

**_The Present_ **

_June 12th, 2016_

I’m up early again, and the rain pounding on the roof informs me that it’s a bad day to run. Since I’m too restless to sleep any longer, I turn on the light and go back to the box I was sorting yesterday. 

_“I don’t mind you moving home,”_ Mom said when I showed up six months ago, _“But we both know you’re not going to stay forever. Look through some of your old things and see what’s worth keeping.”_

So far there hasn’t been much. Books, movies, some photos for Mom to add to the family album. I’ve filled the recycle bin with a small mountain of essays and tests, hung up a pencil sketch of a tree that I don’t remember drawing, and set aside a handful of cross country medals to deal with later. I doubt I’ll find anything else I really care about; by the time I moved away for school, there weren’t a lot of reasons to stay.

I pull out a notebook and flip through. If there are any blank pages left, I can tear out the barely-legible chemistry notes and use it for something else. It falls open to the last filled page and I freeze, staring at a name I haven’t written for years. 

This isn’t homework. It’s a letter. I never finished it; after everything that happened, I couldn’t bear to. Instead I tried my best to forget. But as I read through it, everything comes flooding back. Seven years later, and I remember the words like I wrote them yesterday.

* * *

**_The Past_ **

_July 21st, 2009_

_Dear Jaime,_

_I should probably tell you this in person, but every time I try the words get mixed up and I crack a stupid joke instead. I know, I know, all my jokes are stupid. You probably haven’t noticed me acting weird. Or, weirder than usual._

_The truth is, I have something important to say. Something that might sound weird at first. Something I haven’t told anyone yet. But you’re my best friend, and if anyone understands this I think you will. I hope you will. Jaime, the truth is…_

My bedroom window screen rattles, and I startle so bad the pen leaves a jagged line across the paper. I swear—silently, because I know what will happen if my mom ever hears me—and examine the damage. It’s no good. I’ll have to write it over again, and my hand is already cramping from my attempt at cursive. My handwriting sucks either way, but I thought it would show how serious I am. If I can ever manage to find the right words.

Since the letter is a lost cause, I slam the notebook shut and shove it under a pile of last year’s homework where no one will think to look. Then I roll out of bed and go to the window.

It’s too dark to see much of anything apart from the cloud of bugs hovering around the back door light. And Jaime, reaching down to pick up another rock.

“Hey,” He looks up at the sound of my voice, grinning. “What’s up?”

“You’ll see,” he says, and walks around the side of the house. He doesn’t wait to see if I’m coming. He doesn’t have to.

There’s no one to ask why I’m leaving the house so late. The hospital has mom working nights this week, and Brooke went out hours ago and hasn’t come back. She’s been doing that all summer, like she’s trying to spend every second she can with her friends before they all scatter for college. She says I’ll understand when I’m older, but I doubt it. I’m only nineteen months younger than her. There’s only one person I’d miss.

Jaime is waiting in the driveway, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. He digs out a set of keys and nods across the street. “Abuela’s car?”

Since Brooke has the truck we technically share, I nod and follow him. Abuela Cabrera’s car is what you’d expect from an old lady—it smells like cough drops and has these uncomfortable beaded seat covers—but she doesn’t mind letting her grandson borrow it. And when you live in the middle of nowhere and nothing is open after 8pm, any car is a good car.

We drive with the windows down and the radio blaring crackly classic rock. I lean on one arm and watch Jaime watching the road, wind blowing his dark curls in every direction. In the dashboard lights he looks older than sixteen, focused and intense. Neither one of us says anything. Sometimes, nights like this, we don’t have to. The music says it for us, the low rumble of the engine and the tires kicking up loose stones. We’ve known each other so long, I can tell when Jaime wants to talk and when he doesn’t. Like he can tell when I need to get out and move, or when I want to stay in and read or watch a movie I’ve already seen ten times, both of us crammed into my bed that barely fits one boy, let alone two.

So I know, when he pulls off to the side and cuts the engine, to get out and follow as he jumps across the ditch and swings his leg over the fence. The pasture belongs to someone, but as long as we don’t get too close to a building or mess with the livestock, no one will care. 

Once we get to the middle of the field, Jaime tosses a beat-up blanket down and kicks the corners until it’s more or less unfolded. I flop down without asking; he does too, dropping his head on my stomach so the air pushes out of my lungs. 

“Hey,” I grunt, shoving his head just a little. He shoves back, planting his head more firmly, and after a token protest I let him stay. Truth is, I don’t really mind when he does stuff like this, even though it might be easier if I did. Truth is, I kinda want to touch his hair again, and not because I want to push him away. _Truth is, Jaime…_

“Robin,” Jaime says, “Do you ever think about...whatever else is out there?”

“What, like...aliens?” I know that’s not what he means, but we’re looking up at the stars and it’s easier to make a joke than say what I’m really thinking. 

Jaime snorts and pokes my ribs with his elbow. “Not that, nerd. Just like...what do you remember about living in Chicago?”

We moved when I was seven, so what I mostly remember is moving. There are fuzzy memories of kids from my old school, watching the pigeons from the windows of our fourth floor apartment, and not being allowed outside without a grown-up. What I do remember, clearly, is the first week _after_ we moved, when I walked across the street to talk to the kid sitting on his porch. He looked at me, and I looked at him, and then I said, “Do you want to play? I have a super soaker. You can borrow Brooke’s if you don’t have one.” 

He smiled, then looked down at his bare feet, suddenly serious. “I have to put shoes on. I stepped on a bee one time and went to the _hospital.”_

I didn’t know then what that meant, but I knew bee stings hurt. “My mom goes to the hospital all the time. She’s a doctor. Go get your shoes!”

By the time Jaime’s dad called him for dinner, we were soaked to the skin and shrieking with laughter. I knew for certain that Jaime Cabrera was going to be my best friend for life.

Now, nine years later, I wonder what’s eating him. Jaime normally likes to talk his way around a problem, throwing out random thoughts until something sticks. Me, I have to puzzle things out on my own—on paper, staring out the window, waiting to fall asleep at night. But I can tell he’s working through something, even though he’s not telling me. “Chicago was...big. Busy. I didn’t like it as much as living here. I was just a kid, though.” I wouldn’t have liked living anywhere as much as living here, not if that somewhere else didn’t have a Jaime. “Why?”

“No real reason.” Jaime lifts his head and scoots around so he’s lying alongside me, shoulder to shoulder. “It just feels like...things are changing. One day we’ll wake up and everything will be different.”

He’s not saying everything. Then again, there’s a lot I’m not saying either. Maybe it’ll turn out that what we’re both carefully not-saying is the same. 

“Maybe,” I say, “But I don’t think so. I’ll still be me. You’ll still be you.” 

We’re quiet for a while, turning that over in our different ways. I can see fireflies by the edge of the field, slowly blinking their coded conversations. I wonder if Jaime will tell me why he brought me out here. If he’s thinking what I’m thinking, and like me he’s just trying to find the best words to say it.

He takes a deep breath, and for a second I think he's going to spill. Then he laughs and says, "Hey man. Do you think if we fall asleep out here, you'll wake up with a cow trying to french you again?"

I sit up and slug his arm. "Shut up! That happened _once_ , dude!" I push to my feet. It’s late, and I _will_ have to answer some awkward questions if I’m not home when Mom gets off work. “I thought we agreed to never talk about the Cow Incident.”

 _“You_ agreed. I don’t remember saying anything about that.” Jaime sits up too, and takes my offered hand. “Come on, let’s go home.” I pull him upright. For a split second, our faces are inches apart, his just a little lower than mine after last year’s growth spurt. We’re holding hands, and our eyes meet, and I can’t help thinking how easy it would be to just—go for it. Lean forward. Screw the consequences. Then Jaime laughs, looks away, and releases my hand so he can search for the keys. I shake grass from the blanket and follow him back to the car.

Later, when I’m in my bed and Jaime is presumably in his, I stare at the ceiling and wonder what would have happened if I’d gone through with it. Would he have pulled away? Laughed it off? Nine years we’ve known each other—I can list all his favorite movies, comfort foods, the books he likes and the ones he’d throw in the trash—but I don’t know how he’d respond. I don’t know what he’ll do if I ever manage to finish that letter.

The truth is, I’m in love with Jaime Cabrera. And tonight I almost kissed him.

* * *

_[a birthday card dated January 5th, 2009, buried in a pile of homework assignments]_

_Brave Sir Robin -_

_Happy birthday! You bring the TV, I’ll bring the popcorn. Fair warning, we WILL be watching the whole thing and there WILL be singing. No gallantly chickening out._

_Your favorite minstrel,_

_-J_

* * *

_July 28th, 2009_

“So I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, trying something new?”

“Shut up,” Jaime says, jostling me with his shoulder. Bad move on his part; there’s not a lot of space, and if I really wanted I could push him right off the bed. He has the popcorn though, so I let him stay for now. 

It’s raining for the second day in a row. Yesterday we went out anyway, chasing each other through a cornfield until both of us were soaked to the skin. Today it’s a heavy drizzle, the kind of rain that’s better for crops but absolutely no fun to be out in. So we’re holed up in my room watching _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ for the hundredth time. It’s one of our favorite movies; both of us can quote it line for line, and since Jaime bought me the DVD for my birthday we can watch it whenever we want. Brooke likes to roll her eyes at us, but I don’t mind watching the same thing over and over. It’s comforting, knowing what comes next. 

“I was thinking,” Jaime says again, “that we should go up to the lake.”

I prop myself up on one elbow so I can look at him. “What, _now?”_ I can think of more miserable camping weather, but there’s nothing appealing about sleeping in a tent in this.

“Not _now,_ obviously. It’s supposed to clear up this weekend. We can camp out, go swimming, do the whole thing. Just the two of us.”

When people think of Illinois, they mostly think of Chicago. But the rest of the state isn’t like that; we have more corn and beans than people, and the people we do have tend to be outdoorsy. Most of the tourists who come through Savanna go up to Mississippi Palisades State Park, with its hiking trails and scenic views. The place Jaime has in mind is a little less...official. But there won’t be anyone to care about a couple of unsupervised teenagers, and we can swim as much as we want. 

“Just us?” We go to the lake at least once a summer, but usually Jaime’s parents come too. His mom takes us hiking and lectures about native plants, and his dad catches fish to cook over the fire. Jaime and I swim in the lake and stay up too late talking. 

“Yeah. Dad’s on a deadline, and Mom’s going out of town.”

“Oh.” His dad’s a writer, and his mom is in high demand as a botanist. “Another conference?”

“Something like that.” Jaime’s looking at the screen, but it doesn’t seem like he’s really watching the movie anymore. It’s almost like he’s avoiding looking at me. “They said we can go, though. We’re old enough, just be responsible and don’t wreck the car and don’t set anything on fire.” 

“Okay.” It’s probably just my imagination. I like camping out with the Cabreras; we always have fun, and it’s sort of a tradition. Jaime is probably sad that his parents are too busy this year. “I’ll ask my mom. Maybe we can take the truck.” I lean back on the pillow and reach around Jaime to get a handful of popcorn. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah.” Jaime lays his head on my shoulder, effectively trapping my arm beneath him. “I’m looking forward to it.”

I sigh. “And _I_ was looking forward to some popcorn, Cabrera.” I glare at him, and he grins back, no trace of sadness anywhere on his face. 

“Were you, Ashwood? That’s a shame.” He holds the popcorn bowl away from me, over the edge of the bed. “The grail is _mine.”_

“Oh yeah?” That does it. I roll over to face him, pinning his legs before he can get up and run away. I reach for the popcorn. Jaime grabs at my shirt. By the time the wrestling match is over, the popcorn is on the floor, I’m on top of Jaime and both of us are halfway off the bed, laughing too much to keep going. I let my head rest on his chest for just a moment, listening to his heartbeat. Everything about this, about _us,_ feels easy and comfortable and right. I want it to stay this way. I want to tell him—I _have_ to tell him—but I don’t want to lose this.

“Robin?”

“Yeah?”

Jaime squirms, and I raise my head to look at him. “I hate to interrupt your nap, but I gotta pee and I’m starting to get hungry.”

I laugh and slide the rest of the way off the bed. “Well we _did_ have food, but _someone_ dropped it.” I toss a popcorn kernel at him. “Whose fault is that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He picks his way around the popcorn and heads for the door. “Fetch me a snack, Brave Sir Robin.”

“How about we skip to the part where they eat the minstrel?” I ask, and hear Jaime laugh on his way down the hall. I shake my head and go looking for the vacuum cleaner.

By the time the popcorn is cleaned up, my mom is in the kitchen with a pair of pizza boxes. “I stopped on the way home,” she says, setting them on the table so she can hug me. “I didn’t feel like cooking. Are you joining us, Jaime?”

Jaime looks longingly at the pizza box, then at the clock. “I said I’d go home for dinner, Abuela is making chilaquiles. But maybe…”

Mom is already pulling out plates. “Have a slice for the road, then, we have plenty.” Jaime doesn’t have to be told twice—he goes straight for the pepperoni and mushroom. 

“Chilaquiles? And you didn’t invite me?” I take a plate and open the other box. “Rude.”

“Maybe if you’re nice to me I’ll save you some,” Jaime says. He balances his pizza on a paper towel and kisses my mom on the cheek. “Bye Mrs. Ashwood! Thanks for the pizza.” He takes a bite and nods at me on his way out. “Don’t forget to ask about this weekend.”

“What’s this weekend?” Brooke comes through the door before it can close behind Jaime. “I hope that wasn’t the last of the pepperoni mushroom.” 

People keep saying that Brooke is so grown up, now that she’s graduated and going out into the world. I don’t really see any difference. She’s still my weird sister, even if she sometimes wears makeup and got great ACT scores and swapped her glasses for contacts. Also, she still has terrible taste in pizza. 

“You and Jaime are the only ones that like the mushrooms,” I say, pushing the box towards her so I can get at the other one. 

“The mushrooms are the best part!”

Mom interrupts before we can revisit the Great Mushroom Debate. “This weekend?”

“Oh, yeah.” I swallow a mouthful of cheese. “We want to go up to the lake. Mr. and Mrs. Cabrera are busy, so it’d just be Jaime and me.” Since the next part of the conversation is probably a lecture about responsibility and concern about parental supervision, I add, “They said it was okay. We’ll be careful, I promise.”

Mom sits down next to Brooke with her own plate of pizza. Even though Brooke dyed her hair bright red last week and Mom’s is still the same dirty blond as mine, it’s easy to tell they’re related. Their skeptical expressions are exactly the same. Mom says, “I’m sure you will, but—just the two of you? All weekend?”

“I’ll have my phone, we’ll call to check in!”

“Well…” She’s hesitating, but I think she’s going to say yes. Mom and the Cabreras became friends almost as fast as Jaime and I did, and they’ve supported each other through all kinds of things. If they’re okay with a pair of teenagers spending a weekend in the woods, Mom probably won’t stop us. “All right. But keep your phone with you, I expect at _least_ one call a day. And wear bug spray.” She cuts her pizza into bite-sized pieces—which in my opinion takes all the fun out of it—and points her fork in the direction of the door Jaime just left through. “It’s supposed to be a bad year for wasps and hornets, you can’t be too careful.”

“They’re not _that_ stupid, Mom.” 

“Hey!” Brooke’s right though. I might be stupid about a lot of things, but never about this. We wear bug spray in the woods. Jaime always wears shoes, even to walk from his house to mine. He keeps an epipen in his pocket everywhere we go. 

“You can’t blame me for checking, it’s my job as your mom.” Mom pauses to chew, then says, “You kids are growing up so fast.”

Uh oh. Brooke and I lock eyes, united in our mutual dread. If we let Mom keep going, the rest of the night will turn into a walk down memory lane with probably a lot of baby pictures. I do my best to redirect the conversation. “Right, uh, thanks Mom! Oh, one more thing…can we take the truck? It’s probably safer on those back roads than Abuela Cabrera’s car, right?”

“What?” The moment of sibling unity is gone; Brooke glares at me and nearly chokes on her mushroom. “That’s not fair, I have plans!”

“You always have plans!”

“That’s because unlike you, I actually have friends!”

“I do have friends!” Well, one friend.

Mom puts her fork down. “All right, that’s enough. Brooke, you know the two of you are supposed to share the truck. Don’t be rude when your brother asks to use it.” She turns to me. “And you know I worry about you driving so far, you’ve only had your license a few months.”

“I know, but—”

“I’ll think about it,” Mom says. “We can make this work for everyone.”

Which is as close to a ‘yes’ as I’m likely to get right now. I’ll take it.

* * *

**_The Present_ ** **_  
_** _June 12th, 2016_

The screen door slams behind me, harder than I meant it to. I don’t have a free hand to stop it. “Sorry Mom!” I find her in the kitchen, working on her laptop. “In order to beg forgiveness, I come bearing noodles.” 

“Oh, is it that late already?” Mom blinks, then smiles at the takeout containers in my arms. “Thanks hon. I got so caught up in finishing my charts, I lost track of time.” 

“You’ve been busy lately, I figured it was my turn to get dinner.” I start setting the food out and pass her a pair of chopsticks. 

She takes the chopsticks and moves her laptop out of the way. “Did you get called in today?”

I shake my head. “It’s so close to the end of the school year, no one is calling off. I spent a couple of hours at the library.” No luck on the job search, but at least applying makes it feel like I’m doing something.

It must make Mom feel like I’m doing something too, because she nods and says, “I’m sure something will turn up soon. Oh, that reminds me.” She points to the kitchen window, the one over the sink that looks toward the street. “It looks like we’ll be getting new neighbors soon. They took down the ‘For Sale’ sign in front of the Cabreras’ old place.”

“For real?” Abandoning my food, I cross to the window and look out. Sure enough, the sign that’s been out there for the past two years is gone. “Huh. I wonder who bought it.” There hasn’t been much interest, according to Mom. Not a lot of demand for a house that’s so far out of town but so close to another house. 

“Whoever it is, we’ll have to invite them over for dinner once they settle in.” 

I return to the table and pick up my chopsticks. “Whoever it is, I hope they like takeout.”

Mom laughs. “Maybe they’ll have to invite us for dinner instead.”

* * *

**_The Past_ ** _  
__July 31st, 2009_

In the end, we’re allowed to take the truck on the condition that we drop Mom off at work on the way. Brooke can use Mom’s car as long as she picks Mom up at the end of her shift. So Friday morning finds the three of us squeezed together in the cab, with Mom by the passenger door and Jaime in the middle. It’s a lot to balance, trying to demonstrate responsible driving while also being hyper aware of every time his leg touches mine. Thankfully, Mom doesn’t notice. Jaime must, though, because as soon as we finish saying goodbye his knee snakes under mine so fast that my leg slams into the steering wheel. 

“What the heck?!” I slap at his leg. “Get away, I could have killed us!”

Jaime cackles, bouncing his leg on the seat. “Relax, it’s still in park. If you’re gonna be so jumpy, maybe I should drive.” 

“No way.” I shove at his shoulder. “Are you going to move over, or do you have another attack planned once we’re on the highway?”

Instead of moving away, he shoves back so I’m all the way against the door. “What, you don’t like sitting like this? I’m hurt. Just for that I’m going to sit right here the whole drive.” He puts his arm around my shoulders. 

“If you don’t wear a seatbelt, my bad driving won’t be what kills you. My mom will.”

“She’ll have to get in line behind mine.” He finally moves over to the other seat, and my heart rate goes back to normal. I’m starting to realize that spending a whole weekend with Jaime might be harder than I thought.

Despite the rough start, it’s an easy drive to the lake. Jaime stops teasing me and sings along with the radio, making me laugh with his own version of the lyrics. We move through cornfield territory and into the trees, until eventually we round a corner to see water and open sky ahead of us. I park the truck at the edge of the woods. It’s quiet—no traffic noises or cows, just the murmur of trees and moving water. I take a deep breath and relax for the first time in days.

Then Jaime takes his shirt off, and my heart starts racing all over again. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t we put up the tent first?” Jaime’s parents always made us set up camp before we were allowed to run off. 

“We have all day to do that, I want to swim.” He drops his shorts, too—has his swim trunks on under his regular shorts, which can’t have been comfortable—and turns and waits with folded arms. “Unless you want to do something else?”

The other things I want to do are all highly embarrassing and strongly influenced by the sight of so much skin. “Fine, let me get changed.” I go digging in my bag for trunks and towel, mentally telling myself to play it cool and act like a normal person. It’s not like I haven’t seen him shirtless. I _knew_ we were planning to swim. But like everything else about this, I can’t control the way Jaime makes me feel. All I can control is what I do about it. 

Fortunately, the lake is cold enough to shock the worst of it out of my system. “Holy _crap!”_ I come up sputtering, every nerve in my body suddenly awake. “Thanks for the warning, Cabrera!”

Jaime laughs. “Okay, next time I’ll let _you_ jump in first.” The little dock goes out far enough that we can get in all at once, no wading in inch by frigid inch. “Your face was _priceless.”_

 _“Your_ face is priceless,” I grumble. And then I lunge for him, grabbing his shoulders to push him under. 

“ASHWOOD!” He comes after me as soon as he surfaces, water streaming from his hair. “You’ll pay for that!”

It’s an all-out battle then, each of us giving as good as he gets. My height gives me an advantage, but Jaime is better at swimming underwater so I keep getting surprised from below. All our thrashing around has probably scared off every fish for miles; we’ll most likely end up eating junk food for dinner. Eventually the fight carries us into the shallows, and we lean against each other, dripping and laughing so hard we can barely stand.

“Oh god,” Jaime says, shaking water from his hair, “That was _awesome._ Cannonball contest next? We can see who makes the bigger splash.”

“You’re on, Cabrera, I am the cannonball _king,”_ I say. I grab the edge of the dock and push myself up to sit on it. When I look back at Jaime, it hits me again—I want to kiss him, or confess to him, or hopefully confess and _then_ get to kiss him. The cold water didn’t help at all. I’m still stupidly in love with my best friend.

It must show on my face, because Jaime’s smile fades. “What’s wrong?” He wades over to stand in front of me. “Robin?”

I could tell him. I _should_ tell him. I meet his eyes, familiar dark brown shadowed with worry, and I decide. I _will_ tell him. “There’s...something I want to say.”

“Oh. Sure.” He joins me on the dock, close enough for our shoulders to touch. “I actually have something to tell you too.”

“You...you do?” Maybe I’ve been freaking out over nothing. We’ve always understood each other. Maybe he already knows. 

“Yeah.” Jaime stretches and leans back. “You can go first.”

Right. I can do this. “Okay, so—”

I hear three sounds at once: Jaime’s back hitting the dock, a gasp, and the buzz of a wasp neither of us saw.

 _“Shit.”_ Jaime lurches upright, but it’s too late. He twists around, and I see the mark clearly on his shoulder. 

_Shit._ “No. No no no.” Even as my mouth denies it, my body is already moving, springing to my feet. “Your pen, it’s—”

“Shorts,” Jaime says, staggering after me. I grab his hand and run for the truck. Jaime’s clothes are right where he left them; I dive for the pockets. It’s in there, just like always, and I want to sob from relief but it’s not over yet. We’ve practiced this. I know how. I just hoped I’d never have to. 

“Leg,” I say, and grab his knee to hold him still. Blue to the sky. Orange to the thigh. Hold it in place, push in. One. Two. Three. I look at Jaime’s face to avoid looking at what I’m doing. His eyes are wide. I can’t tell if he’s breathing fast from fear or anaphylaxis. Doesn’t matter. It’s done, and I let the pen fall from my hand.

“Robin, I—we—hospital.”

Right. It’s not over. We’re in the middle of nowhere; by the time an ambulance gets to us, it could be too late. “Get in.” He doesn’t move fast enough, so I drag him to his feet and shove him into the passenger’s seat. Keys, keys—on the seat where I left them, in my pile of clothes. The door slams, and the tires tear up grass and gravel as I point the truck toward the road. Half an hour into town. I can make it faster if I speed like the devil’s chasing me. At least if I get pulled over, the cops can take him the rest of the way.

“Robin.” I risk a glance over. Jaime’s shoulder is swollen, and his eyes look puffy. Hives are blooming on his arms and chest. “I—”

“Don’t try to talk,” I say, “just keep breathing. You’re doing great.” My voice cracks on the last word. My knees are shaking. _Very convincing, Ashwood._

 _“Robin.”_ He puts a hand on my arm, and the rasp of his breath cuts straight to my heart. “I’m _scared.”_

Since I’m already breaking every driving rule I’ve ever learned, I might as well break one more. I take one hand off the wheel and reach for Jaime’s. “Me too.”

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. Every second stretches out, agonizingly slow, even though I’m driving as fast as the truck and the crappy roads allow. It’s easier going when we hit the highway. We don’t run into any speed traps, though I almost wish we would when we get into town. A cop car wouldn’t have to wait for traffic.

When we finally pull into the hospital lot, Jaime’s breath comes in harsh gasps. I don’t even bother parking, just throw the door open and run around to the passenger’s side. “Come on, we’re here, it’s going to be fine, they’ll help you.”

Jaime has to brace his hand on my shoulder to get out of the truck, and almost falls when his knees buckle. I end up half-dragging, half-carrying him to the door. “He needs help!” The lady at the reception desk looks up, does a double-take that would have been hilarious under any other circumstance, and immediately grabs the phone to call for backup. People are asking questions, and I try to answer as best as I can so Jaime can concentrate on breathing. Yes, he used an epi pen. No, we’re not family. Then someone is pulling him away from me, and I start to fight it before I realize there’s a stretcher ready for him. 

“Robin...I...should—” He’s trying to get the words out around swollen lips as a crowd of people in scrubs surrounds him.

“It’ll be okay now,” I say, wishing I believed it. I have so much more I want to say, but there’s no time. “Jaime, I—” 

The door slides closed behind them. _No unauthorized personnel._ Jaime is gone.

* * *

**_The Present_ ** _  
__June 20th, 2016_

Last week’s rain is gone, leaving sticky humidity in its wake. Not my favorite running weather, but if I let myself be choosy I wouldn’t get to run all summer. Since I’m awake at the first hint of sun, it’s easy enough to go out before it gets too hot. So I roll out of bed, throw on running clothes, and head out into the dawn.

It’s a relief to be alone with my thoughts out here, away from distractions and reminders of things I thought I’d left behind. It was bad enough being back home; this past week has been worse than the last six months combined. Ever since I found that letter I can’t stop thinking about it. About high school, awkward and terrifying and so full of feelings it felt like I’d burst out of my skin. About Jaime, how much he meant to me and how much it hurt when I lost him. 

Running is what got me out of my head back then, too. When the cross country coach saw me drifting through junior year and handed me a signup form for the team—that’s when things started to change, little by little. I couldn’t face my feelings, but I could face forward and move my feet. Ever since then, when I start to think too much about things I can’t change, I run. Not away from the problem, like I was always doing when it came to confessing to Jaime, but forward. I pick my feet up, send my body hurtling over dirt roads and grassy fields, and my mind can relax. I can think clearly.

But no matter how hard I push myself, I can’t see where to go from here. All the worries of the past six months are still there: my dismal job prospects in this town, the impossibility of living on my own without something more permanent, the failures that brought me back here in the first place. But this past week I’ve been distracted by a completely different problem. That letter is a ghost from years ago, and after all this time it’s come back to haunt me. 

_The truth is, Jaime…_

I never got to tell him. In the face of everything else that happened back then, it stopped feeling important. We had so many good years; it would have been stupid to pretend those were somehow less, just because I never got the kiss I was hoping for. So I made myself focus on the good times, even when my heart felt like it was being ripped from my chest. I told myself everything was fine until eventually I started to believe it.

Now I wonder if that was a mistake. If I should have said something before it all ended. Would my life look different now, if I had? I can’t regret how things turned out, but I can’t help wondering. I run, I keep my eyes focused ahead, I keep moving. And now my steps have brought me back home. Maybe I haven’t moved on after all.

As I round the curve that takes me onto our road, lungs burning and muscles loose, I wonder what life would be like if I’d just told Jaime how I felt.

And then I stop, staring, because there’s a car parked in front of the Cabreras’ old house. And there’s someone sitting on the porch, staring back at me. He stands and crosses the yard, carrying a coffee cup in one hand. He reaches the mailbox and I can’t tear my eyes away, can’t move, can’t even tell if I’m still breathing.

“Robin Ashwood. Holy shit.”

His voice is just the same. My lungs remember to suck in air. “You’re back.”

* * *

**_The Past_ ** _  
__July 31st, 2009_

After Jaime is swallowed by the emergency room, everything gets a little hazy. People keep asking me about what happened, but after a while I can’t come up with any answers and the questions stop. I don’t remember sitting down, but at some point I must have because the next thing I remember is looking up and seeing my mom.

“Robin, sweetie. Are you with me?” Her hand is cool on my forehead, and it wakes me up a little.

“Mom, Jaime—” I can’t finish.

“I know. One of the nurses came to get me.”

“But…” Mom doesn’t work in the ER. She wouldn’t get called to treat an allergic reaction. “Why are you here?”

She brushes my hair back like she used to do when I was little and had a fever. “Because my son is sitting in the waiting room without a shirt or shoes on, going into shock.”

Oh. In all the excitement, I didn’t even notice my bare feet. I must have driven the whole way like that. “My shoes...I think they’re in the truck.” Either that or they’re back at the lake, but I have bigger problems to worry about. “Oh, crap. The truck.” I fumble around, looking for the keys.

“Here.” Mom holds them out. “You left them in the ignition. Someone parked it for you and brought them in.” I reach for them, but she stops me. “Brooke is on her way, she’s going to drive you home.”

“But—”

“You’re not in any shape to drive,” she says, in the no-nonsense mom way that means there’s no point in arguing, “And you’re not staying here.” I expect her to yell at me for being irresponsible with the truck, but she doesn’t. “It’s time to go home and rest.”

“But I can’t just _leave_ him!” I can’t bear the thought of Jaime facing this alone. I should have tried harder to follow when they took him away. “What if he needs something?”

“His dad and his abuela are here already. His mom is catching the next flight home.” She looks up, and when I follow her gaze I see Brooke coming through the door. “You did everything you could, and you’ve been very brave. Let the adults take care of things now.”

I hate when people say that. Like being an adult makes people magically better at things. Brooke’s not any more responsible than she was before she turned eighteen. There’s plenty I can do to help Jaime, if only they’ll let me. I open my mouth to say so, but a wad of fabric hits me in the face.

“Put a shirt on, no one wants to see your scrawny chest,” Brooke says. I glare at her, but I pull the shirt over my head while she and Mom exchange keys. Mom hugs us both and tells us she’ll call as soon as she hears anything, then leaves.

“Got you this, too.” Brooke pushes a candy bar into my hand. “Let’s go, you can eat in the truck.”

Weirdly enough, I do feel better after eating the chocolate. The shirt helps, too, and putting on my shoes that were in the truck after all. Brooke stays quiet while I eat, and I’m glad. So much has happened today. I’m not sure I can handle anything else.

Just as we’re turning onto our street, Brooke says, “You probably saved his life, you know. That’s pretty badass.”

I stare at her, as shocked by the compliment as by the profanity. I can’t think of a response, but Brooke doesn’t seem to need one.

“The timing really sucks though. The Cabreras have enough going on with the move; hopefully they’ll have time to get everything done.”

I must still be in shock. I can’t have heard that right. “The...move?”

Brooke lets out another word that Mom wouldn’t approve. “I forgot—I wasn’t supposed to say anything—”

“Say anything about what? What’s going on?”

The truck rolls to a stop in our driveway; Brooke parks but doesn’t get out. “Jaime wanted to tell you himself. I found out by accident—Mom was talking to Mrs. Cabrera on the phone.” I don’t say anything, and eventually she goes on. “The Cabreras are moving to Sacramento. In the middle of August. I thought Jaime would have told you already, but—”

I don’t wait to hear any more. The door slams behind me; I take the stairs two at a time without bothering to take off my shoes. Even before I reach the safety of my room, my eyes blur with tears. God. I’m so stupid. All this time Jaime’s been quiet, all the things he hasn’t said—I thought I knew what it was about. I thought his secret was the same as mine. Even if I had managed to tell him, it wouldn’t have mattered. 

Maybe it’s true that I saved Jaime Cabrera’s life. But I’m going to lose him anyway.

* * *

**_The Present_ ** _  
__June 20th, 2016_

“You’re back.”

“You’re here.” 

I don’t know why _he’s_ so surprised. I’m not the one who left. “Where else would I be?”

He shrugs. “A lot can change in seven years.”

It’s true, and the proof is standing in front of me. Jaime isn’t much taller, but his chest and shoulders have filled out. There’s a suggestion of a beard along his jaw. His hair is shaved on the sides, tapering up into the thick curls I remember. His ears are pierced, and unless I’m very much mistaken there’s a tattoo creeping up from the collar of his shirt. 

“Damn. You look good.” I regret the words immediately, but Jaime grins. That smile hasn’t changed a bit.

“Same to you.” Maybe I’ve been staring, but so has he; I’m suddenly very aware of my tight running clothes. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, Ashwood?”

It’s my turn to laugh. “A lot can change in seven years, Cabrera.” 

He nods. “And yet, here we both are.” 

It feels like fate, him showing up now when I’ve just found that old letter. Of course, saying that out loud feels like a great way to make a fool of myself within thirty seconds of seeing him. Seven years is a long time; we can’t just go back to our old habits right away. I should keep things casual. Maybe ask him to come by for dinner like Mom suggested.

“Do you want to have breakfast with me?” Jaime asks. “I just got in—decided to keep driving instead of stopping somewhere. I’m starving.” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly sheepish. “Not that I have much to offer you besides coffee. But it’d be nice to catch up.”

Or maybe we’ll just do this right now. “How about you come to my place for breakfast instead? Mom will be sad to miss you, but at least we have food.” 

Which is how I end up at my kitchen table watching Jaime Cabrera devour cold pizza like he hasn’t eaten in a week. 

“So you drove all the way from California?” I still can’t quite believe he’s here.

“Yeah. Made a few stops along the way.” He takes a moment to wash his pizza down with more coffee. “Things fell through at the place I was supposed to stay last night, so it made more sense to keep going. I’m not sure I could have slept anyway.”

The way he’s downing coffee, I suspect the all-nighter will catch up to him soon. “So…” I can’t think of a polite way to say it, so I say it bluntly. “Why are you here?”

Jaime swallows his last bite and looks at his plate like he’s surprised to see it empty. “I know we haven’t kept in touch, but...you remember how my mom was always telling us about invasive plant species?”

I nod. I heard that lecture so many times, I could probably still recite it.

“Well, I kind of went in a different direction. Biology, and last fall I started working on my master’s.”

I stare at him. “Please tell me you are not going into entomology.”

He laughs, surprised. “Ha! No, I doubt they’d ever let me do field work if I wanted to study insects. Ornithology, specifically the environmental impact of invasive species and changes in bird migration.”

That sounds every bit as nerdy as the Jaime I remember. “So you’re doing that...here?”

“Yeah. I convinced my advisor to let me do some research on bird populations in rural Illinois. I can do the actual writing anywhere, and the house didn’t sell so I had somewhere to stay. Also...I missed this place.” He looks up from his coffee, and his little smile makes me smile too. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Yeah.” For the first time in six months, I am too. “It’s lucky you didn’t come back sooner, or I might not have been.”

“Oh?” He props his elbow on the table, watching me with interest. “Where were you before?”

I didn’t mean to bring it up, but now that he’s asked it all comes pouring out of me. About college, what it was like living in Des Moines after spending my whole life here. About staying in the city when I graduated because there was someone there who wanted me, and a job that was easy to get even if it wasn’t ideal. I even tell him about getting dumped, finding myself single and homeless overnight, and losing my job on top of it all. “So I came back,” I finish. “Didn’t really know what else to do. I’m substitute teaching right now, but I can’t do that forever.”

“Damn, that sucks.” Jaime leans back in his chair. “I kinda want to give your ex a piece of my mind, though part of me thinks I should thank him.” 

“You don’t have to—wait, why would you _thank_ him?” Jaime didn’t react at all when I mentioned my ex was an ex- _boy_ friend. I don’t know what I expected, but I’m still relieved.

“Well, _obviously_ he’s an idiot for breaking up with you. But it worked out in my favor. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

The words warm me more than they should. Why should I care about Jaime’s opinion of me after all these years? Why should he be glad to see me? But he seems like he means it. And I have to admit that I’m glad to see him, too.

“I am.” I can feel myself smiling like an idiot. “And so are you.”

“Yeah.” We sit there for a while, just looking at each other and smiling. Then Jaime’s head starts to droop. “Oof. I think the coffee’s wearing off. I should probably go home and sleep, maybe unpack.” He stands up and stretches. “Thanks for breakfast.”

I laugh. “Sure, you’re welcome to my leftover pizza anytime.” I walk him to the door. “I can’t guarantee a home-cooked meal, but if you want to come back for dinner, I’m sure Mom would love to see you. She wanted to invite our ‘new neighbors’ over anyway.”

“That sounds nice.” He yawns. “Can’t promise I’ll be awake though. How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, then.” 

I expect him to go, so I’m startled when he turns and wraps his arms around me. “I missed you, Robin.”

I hug him back, trying not to let my surprise show. “I missed you too.” Even after seven years, I never really stopped. 

* * *

**_The Past_ ** _  
__August 1st, 2009_

I have absolutely no desire to go back to the hospital. If I had my way, I’d spend the rest of the summer in my room. But Mom has other ideas.

“It’ll cheer him up to see you. There’s not a lot to do in the hospital when you’re a kid, I’m sure he’s bored.”

I want to point out that hospitals aren’t supposed to be exciting, they’re supposed to make people better so they can leave. But I also think that if I protest too much Mom will want to know why, and she’ll figure out I’m avoiding Jaime. Given the choice between the two, I’ll take the hospital.

Even so, I’m not ready when we get to his room. What am I supposed to say to Jaime after everything that happened? I rack my brain for an excuse to stall—maybe we should have brought flowers? Maybe I should stop at the gift shop first? But then the door opens and Abuela is there. 

“Robin!” She hugs me, tighter than usual. “He’s been asking for you.” I want to ask her how he is, how _she_ is, anything to keep from going in. I don’t get a chance, though. She hugs me again, kisses my cheek, and pushes me into the room. Mom stays out in the hall to talk to her. The door closes behind me.

“Wow. You look like shit.”

Every half-baked idea I had about what to say goes right out the window. “Excuse me? I’m not the one who spent the night in the hospital.”

Jaime laughs, and it’s a relief to hear even though the sound cuts right through me. He looks much better than the last time I saw him. The hives and swelling have gone away, and his eyes are alert. “Whatever, Ashwood, you _wish_ you could make a hospital gown look this good.” The annoying thing is, he’s right. It’s totally unfair; after a near-death experience, unshowered and wearing the world’s least-flattering shade of green, he’s still the beautiful boy I fell in love with. I lost one night of sleep and I probably look like hell.

When I don’t joke back, Jaime’s smile fades. “Hey. Robin. It’s okay now.” His voice is softer, trying to reassure me like I tried to reassure him yesterday. “They wanted to keep me overnight for observation, but I haven’t had any flare-ups since yesterday afternoon. I had to get a steroid shot in the ass and it hurt like hell, but I should be able to go home later today. My parents aren’t crazy about the idea of us going back to the lake, but—”

I can’t hold it in anymore. _“Jaime.”_ He stops. I don’t want to say the words, but I have to. “I found out about Sacramento.”

All the humor floods out of his face. I don’t think it’s possible that the room just got colder, but it feels that way. 

“Oh.”

He looks at me. I look at him. There’s a chair next to his bed, so I sit on it just to have something to do.

Jaime takes a deep breath. “Robin…” It’s the small, scared voice from yesterday. Only this time there’s nothing I can do to reassure him. “I wanted to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?” He must have known for a while. People don’t pack up and move across the country on two weeks’ notice. “I had to find out from _Brooke.”_

“I thought...Abuela is staying, I tried to get Mom and Dad to let me stay with her. And when that didn’t work I just...didn’t want it to be real.” He pokes at a loose thread on the hospital blanket. “I don’t want to go. I didn’t want to spend our last summer together being miserable. I thought, once I told you...everything would change.”

I want to stay mad at him. I want a reason to pick a fight so I can be angry instead of...whatever this feeling is. But I can’t blame Jaime for this. All the reasons that kept me silent about my own feelings—in the end, they’re basically the same. I don’t want to ruin things between us. I don’t want to lose him. And I’d be lying if I said I wish he’d told me sooner. For two whole months I got to think about kissing Jaime Cabrera instead of missing him.

“This sucks,” I say, and drag the chair closer to the bed so I can rest my arms and head on the edge of it. “What’s so great about Sacramento, anyway?”

Jaime sighs and rests a hand on my hair. “Nothing. Well, Mom got a job, but that’s not great for _us.”_ I can feel his fingers sifting through the strands, soft, the way I’ve been wanting to touch his hair. “Say, Robin…”

He trails off, and I don’t want to move but I have to know what he’s thinking. I tilt my head so I can look at him. “What?”

It’s funny how I thought I knew Jaime so well. Right now I can’t read the expression on his face at all. “At the lake, before...everything. What did you want to tell me?”

He’s looking at me so intently. Like I’m an uncertain stretch of road after dark, and he has to watch to make sure he doesn’t miss a turn. 

Yesterday, I would have told him. I was _going_ to tell him. I still could—maybe it would work out, and we’d have an amazing two weeks. Or it would mess things up, and after two weeks I wouldn’t have to worry about it.

But I won’t. 

“It’s not important,” I say, and close my eyes so I won’t have to look at him. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

We’re quiet then. We stay just like that, him in the bed with his hand in my hair, and we don’t need to say anything.

I think I recognize this feeling now. It’s heartbreak.

* * *

**_The Present_ ** **_  
_** _June 20th, 2016_

It’s late, but after what happened this morning sleep is the furthest thing from my mind. I sit on the floor surrounded by boxes, as though sifting through old crap will help me sort out my feelings. It’s useless, though. I keep going back to that half-finished letter. _The truth is._ For so long I haven’t known. Now it feels like I’m closer than ever to knowing, but nothing in this room will help me.

A rock hits my window screen.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, leaning on the windowsill to look down at Jaime. 

He shrugs. “I slept most of the day. Want to go somewhere?”

“Sure.” I meet him in the driveway, keys in my hand. “Figured you’ve had enough driving for a while.”

There actually is an all-night diner in town now, and plenty of bars we could go to. But I turn the truck in the opposite direction, away from the main roads. It’s Jaime’s first night back, and I don’t want to share him with anyone just yet. We drive in silence, comfortable quiet stretching between us just like the old days. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the memories made fresh by that letter, but it feels like no time at all has passed. Or like we’ve been living across the street from each other all these years instead of across the country. I know it shouldn’t feel this easy. People change. Seven years is a long time.

I pull over on a stretch of road between a cornfield and an empty pasture and cut the engine. I can’t help glancing over at Jaime, now that I can take my eyes off the road. He’s looking at me, too, though it’s too dark for me to see his expression. I wonder if he’s also thinking about that summer when we were sixteen.

Certainly it feels like the same brand of teenage stupidity, trespassing in a random field so we can stare at the sky. But when we’re side-by-side on the old wool blanket, Jaime sighs and his shoulder relaxes against mine.

“It’s been so long,” he says. “You can’t see the stars like this in Sacramento. Too much light pollution. But here—it’s just the same.”

I want to tell him it’s not exactly the same. Even though I came back from school every break, I still noticed the changes little by little. New stores in town. More cars on the roads, and fewer roads that are just packed dirt. I don’t see any fireflies at the edge of the field tonight; I heard they’re dying out.

But we can still see the stars. And we’re seeing them together for the first time in seven years. No matter what else has changed, one thing is exactly the same.

“You know,” I say, tracing the path of the big dipper with my eyes, “The last time we did this, I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you.”

Silence, like an indrawn breath. Now that I’ve finally started, there’s no going back. “I spent a lot of that summer thinking about it, really. Even before then, but without school there was nothing to distract me from it. And I wanted to tell you, but…” How do I say it? “But I didn’t.”

A pause. Then, “Why not?”

“Because…” This is the hard part. I still don’t regret my decision, but it makes me sound like a coward. “I was afraid of losing you. We were best friends, and I was so in love with you. If I told you—if I kissed you—it could have ruined everything.” I take a deep breath. “And then I did try. At the lake. But then everything happened and it was too late.”

It’s quiet again, for long enough that I’m worried I’ve ruined everything now. Then Jaime turns toward me.

“It’s not.”

I’m confused enough to turn and look at him. “It’s not what?”

“Not too late.” He props himself up on an elbow. In the moonlight, his face is as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “Robin...if you’d kissed me, I would have kissed you back. Might have kissed you first, except we were moving and I knew that wasn’t fair.” 

I sit up too. “What?” All my memories of that summer shift, like the world’s tilted on its axis. “You...wanted to kiss me too?” 

He nods. “Worst two months of my life, keeping secrets from you. I only ever got to tell you about one, and that was because you found out on your own.”

Maybe I should be upset about that, but all I feel is giddy relief. “Well, don’t do it again,” I say, and give his shoulder a little shove. “Secrets suck.”

Jaime grins and puts a hand on my shoulder, but he doesn’t push me away. “All right.” He keeps looking at me, smiling, hand warm through my shirt. “No secrets. So...like I said, it’s not too late. At least I hope not.”

I can only think of one possible meaning for that, but I have to be sure. “Are you saying…?”

“Kiss me, Robin.”

After seven years of waiting, I don’t have to be told twice.

Kissing Jaime isn’t how my sixteen-year-old self imagined. It’s a thousand times better. His lips are soft, warm and insistent on mine. There’s a scratch of stubble where our faces touch, and I can feel him smile against my mouth when I let out a little moan. 

“You like that?” He asks, breaking the kiss to rub his cheek against mine.

“I like _you,”_ I say, slightly breathless. Breathing is overrated; I tilt his chin so I can kiss him again.

“Like?” He’s still laughing at me, I can tell. “You _used_ to love me.”

I don’t want to waste even a second that I could be kissing him, but this is important. “Jaime Cabrera,” I say, cradling his face in my hands, “I have never stopped loving you. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Jaime smiles so bright, it’s like the sun came up. “Neither did I.” And then he doesn’t say anything at all, just meets my mouth and starts to make up for all the years we’ve waited.

* * *

* * *

**_The Future_ ** **_  
_** _August 15th, 2016_

I wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the smell of onions and peppers frying. It’s already too warm, even with the windows open, so I give up on the idea of a run. I throw on a pair of shorts and head downstairs.

“Someone slept late.” Jaime’s at the stove, standing back so the hot oil doesn’t spit on his bare chest. Whatever he’s cooking, I’m already certain it’ll be amazing.

“That’s because _someone_ kept me up late,” I say, sliding my arms around him from behind. I plant a kiss on his shoulder, where the tiny tattooed wasp surrounded by leafy vines can’t sting anyone. The first time I saw it, I couldn’t understand why; that day is permanently etched into my brain, I don’t need any more reasons to remember it.

“I survived it, though,” Jaime had told me. “I wanted to celebrate that.” He’d been much more embarrassed when I discovered the little red-breasted bird tattooed on his outer thigh, right where I once held an epipen to his skin. I only teased him a little for being an ornithology nerd.

Jaime turns his attention from the stove just long enough to kiss me properly. “Careful, Ashwood. Keep doing that and I’ll burn our breakfast.” 

“You? Never.” I give him one last kiss for good measure and step back. “I’m the one who burns things. Give me something to wash or chop, I can’t let you do all the work.” 

Breakfast gets done without anything burning. We eat at the kitchen table, sitting across from each other in familiar chairs. Jaime catches me smiling at him and responds with one of his own. “What is it?”

I shake my head, but the smile doesn’t fade. “Just thinking. It kind of feels like we’ve been doing this forever, doesn’t it? It’s nice.”

Jaime nods. “I know what you mean.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “It is nice. Like we’ve been doing this for years.” In a way, we kind of have, though there used to be more Cabreras here eating with us. I haven’t quite gotten used to waking up in this house instead of the one across the street. I might not be here long enough to get used to it; the GRE is looming, and if one of the education programs accepts me then we might end up in a new town, in some apartment that’s only ever been ours. 

For now though, being here is enough. Jaime will study bird migration through the winter; I’ll study hard, get my applications in, and try to save up. Summer is coming to a close, but we have new seasons ahead of us.


End file.
